Fallen Angel
by USSManhattan
Summary: A brief oneshot of the realities of Arnold Betrays Iggy.


Betrayal. Probably one of the worst actions a human being could do to another human being. Arnold now knew that all to well first hand. He could still hear the laughing and talking on the streets out his window, the cameramen packing up to return to their studios. The cloth cage around him was stuck fast due to the embarrassed sweat that had glued it to his body. Snarling in frustration, he ripped it free, crumpled it into a ball, and chucked it out of the window. After throwing on his usual fare, he crashed to his bed, sighing.  
  
"So, that's how they all repay me for supporting them in the past" he muttered. "All I try to do is be helpful, and it just slapped me royal in the face. From now on, I might want to really think if I wanna help someone", he sighed, staring up into the sky. The clouds played with his mind, forming carrots and bunny-ears. He grumbled to himself, and rolled so he couldn't see his skylight.  
  
For a moment, there was peace, then his skylight rattled to announce someone's entry. "That's funny, why's someone entering through there?" he thought. He looked up to see Gerald climbing down the ladder.  
  
"Hey man."  
  
"Hey. Does Somalia know about this yet?"  
  
"Ah, c'mon man…it's not THAT bad. Besides, I think it's just reaching France. But seriously, it takes a while for websites to register in search engines." Arnold nodded for a moment, then looked puzzled.  
  
"Website…?"  
  
"Sure man. Those pictures I got were TOO funny to keep to myself!"  
  
"How could you do this to me?!"  
  
"Easy, you're the bunny boy. Here, you dropped this!" Gerald sneered, tossing the costume into his face. Arnold sputtered, ripping it away to reveal his best friend appearing in a horribly demonic form. Other distorted friends, family, and just regular people crowded around him, laughing and pointing. Arnold looked around, terrified, actually shrinking before them. When he looked down, he saw the body of a bunny rabbit, causing him to scream. He then looked up to see his grandmother towering over him, armed with a hateful cleaver.  
  
"Rabbit stew for vittles tonight, cowboys!" she cackled. The cleaver came down, Arnold feeling the bitter, sharp pain before waking up.  
  
  
  
Arnold looked around, sweat dampening his nightclothes and sheets. No, Gerald and the others weren't here, he was human, and his neck was whole. "What a horrible nightmare…was yesterday THAT bad?" the football-head muttered, climbing out of bed. He numbly dressed, and headed downstairs for breakfast."  
  
"Mornin' short man, how'd you sleep?" his Grandpa asked as he flipped flapjacks at the stove for him. After a moment of studying his face, the old man remarked "Bad dreams?"  
  
"Yeah…any dream that involves what happened yesterday and me transforming into an animal usually bites in my book, Grandpa" he sighed, accepting the flapjacks from him. After half-drowning them in syrup, he numbly dug into them. "Oh, look, it's Arnold…he was so funny and cute yesterday!" Oskar chuckled across the table. Arnold stared angrily at him for a moment, then dropped his fork.  
  
"I just lost my appetite. I'm going to school now, Grandpa" he muttered.  
  
"Okay short man, I'll just eat those for ya…"  
  
"No, I take them, Grandpa."  
  
"Ooh, you don't stop, do you Kokashka?!"  
  
"No, look, I'm fading away rapidly. You're starving me!"  
  
Arnold shook his head as he listened to his neighbors argue about the food rapidly. At least it's business as usual for THEM… he sighed. He stepped outside cautiously, knowing that he was probably about to start one of the worst and longest days in his life. And, look, it was starting already!  
  
"Arnold, I'm so so sorry!" Iggy pleaded, jumping off the stoop. Arnold sighed, looking at him with frustrated disgust.  
  
"Oh, it's YOU."  
  
Iggy wasn't stopped by Arnold's rebuttal, and continued his attempt to apologize to him. After a few tries, the football-headed boy whirled around, glaring practically right through him. After he entertained thoughts of nice responses such as slugging him in the head, shoving him into a dumpster or hurling a heavy object at him, he marched off again. Iggy stopped for a moment, then tried again.  
  
"C'mon, Arnold, you can't be mad at me forever!" he insisted. Arnold turned his head, looking at him with disgust.  
  
"You think so? Watch me. Oh, and isn't irony great? Would have been nice if I wasn't the one whose embarrassment is probably reaching CHINA by now! Good. Bye." Iggy started up again, causing Arnold to cover his ears with an irritated growl and run down the street. Surely, once Iggy'd gotten the message, things would be better on his trip to school. He found out the hard way that it wouldn't be so.  
  
"Good morning, Ms. Vittela" the boy hailed at the neighborhood florist.  
  
"Hey, Arnie…sorry, I don't usually carry carrots!" she sniggered, heading back into her shop. Arnold was unnerved by her reply, but sauntered on. He passed other neighbors, which had the same general things to say:  
  
"Hey, Arnold, are you still comin' to shop, or does rabbit meat make you unhappy now?" Mr. Green asked. Arnold sighed, and walked faster. This wasn't happening; he tried to tell himself vainly.  
  
"Hey kid! I got carrot-flavored ice cream just for ya!" the Jolly Olly Man cried, laughing his head off. This caused others to notice the boy who was just trying to go to school, but Arnold was a sitting duck to the attacks he was now taking.  
  
"Liked you better with the tail, kid!"  
  
"Look, it's that bunny kid! That huge head of his must be hollow!"  
  
"Want some carrots?"  
  
"Boy, aren't you a moron…" Arnold winced, speeding with each jab, struggling to prevent the hot, stinging tears now welling in his eyes from rolling down his cheeks, knowing it'd just be more fodder for the harassers. "Stop it…please, stop it…" he whispered to himself as he half sprinted away towards PS 118, locked in a maze of hurtful vocal hazards. He had finally reached the school, only to take a brutal broadside attack from his friends, climbing the stairs to the building.  
  
"Hey, Awwwnold…where's your ears?"  
  
"My dad knows of a WONDERFULLY rich, expensive carrot crop…I suppose I could ask him to part with some of our money for you…"  
  
"Ya'll looked pretty stupid, Arnold."  
  
"Look, Harold, Rhonda and Stinky" Gerald sighed, standing upon the railing. "Arnold took a big risk to make things up to Iggy, and he did it. Although, he didn't need to retrospect, as he didn't sp-" Gerald sniggered, and burst into laughter. "Aw man, that pink stomach and the little tail! I don't believe it!" Arnold, jaw dropped and slightly quivering with realizing even his best friend was attacking him now, could only look on as his entire class began to taunt him. "G'wan, football head", Helga sneered, "go find some grass or something…or should I say, 'bunny boy'?" Arnold stepped back, bumping into Iggy, who had just raced in to attempt bailing the rapidly disintegrating boy out.  
  
"Hey, cut it out guys! You okay, Arnold? You look horrible! Is there anything I can do for you that'd help make you feel b-" Iggy was too stunned to finish, as he had been just shoved against the fence by Arnold. He looked into his black glasses, with the eyes that had glowed with life now darkening with agony and grief.  
  
"Leave alone, you've already destroyed me" he mumbled, tears brimming. He let him go, then sprinted off, hearing the faint jeers of his 'friends' as he raced away from a nightmare that seemed to have no end or escape in sight.  
  
More attacks. More pointing. More jeers. More stabs in the back for the kid who had been there for anyone at anytime they needed someone. His world was ending, and no one was helping him in his time of need, only augmenting the destruction.  
  
"Hey there, Tex…home from the cattle rush already?"  
  
"Um, well Grandma, I felt queasy, a- Why are you dressed like Elmer Fudd?"  
  
"Why, current events cowpoke! You've made front page news!" she cried, pointing out a stack of the city's newspapers. She then ran off, crying Spanish to her imaginary herd while receiving the complaints of his grandfather in the distance. With a hesitant gulp, he numbly looked through the stack.  
  
"'Local Boy Makes Moron of Himself'? 'Bunny for Brains?' 'Costuming Spectacle Amuses Thousands?' Oh God…why is this happening to me?!" Arnold whimpered, dropping them. All but dead now in spirit, the boy dragged himself upstairs to his room, face slick with dried tears.  
  
Arnold flung the door close as he limped into his room, feeling half-dead and drained almost of all his life-force. His sharp young mind was dulled by the memories of those he loved waiting, then tearing into him trying to unnecessarily make-up to a friend…even his own grandfather and best friends had their cameras ready, gloating! The more his mind tried to grapple this data, the more it began to break-up.  
  
"No, they can't ALL be laughing at me…it's statistically IMPOSSIBLE" he muttered to himself in weak self-assurance. "I need music…that'll help…my nerves REALLY need calming." With a semi-shaky hand, he reached up, and hit the radio. After a brief second, the radio beamed with life, giving out the cool, drawling voice of his station's DJ.  
  
"…is now 11:42. News highlights at the top of the hour, and for the time being we'll play a little dedication ditty I found tucked back in the vaults. Here's 'At the Hop' for our city doofus, Arnold 'Bunny Boy' –" The announcer was cut off by Arnold's scream and tearing of his radio loose from the wall. He nibbled a finger nervously, then mumbled "TV? No, whom I kidding, it's on there…it was LIVE. And the Internet…the pictures must be everywhere; joke sites, Yahoo and e-mails worldwide…" Arnold paused, then started to cry.  
  
"I must be the laughing stock of the whole planet! I'm not Arnold; I'm just a moron in a suit! I've lost my dignity because I've left myself so open to help others!" the boy sniffled. He looked out his skylight, flopped on his back as he wiped his eyes. "I'm never leaving this room again…I don't have a choice." With a sniffle, he pulled the covers over his head, and sobbed himself to a fitful 'sleep'.  
  
"Hey, short man…ya there?"  
  
Grandpa cracked open the door to his grandson's attic home, peering in. The room was surprisingly quiet, and it seemed that Arnold wasn't there. He was about to leave, thinking he had gone to a friend's or something similar, when he noticed the rather pathetic lump under the sheets. Grandpa prodded it, which caused a faint, mumbled 'G'way' underneath. He peeled the covers off, revealing the tear-streaked, frustrated football head.  
  
"What's wrong, short man?"  
  
"Everyone hates me now…I'm the laughing stock of the planet."  
  
"Oh, come now! Everyone doesn't HATE you…they're all mocking you for what a silly idiot you were walking around in that suit!" Grandpa was on too much of a roll to notice Arnold's hurt groan.  
  
"That's not helping, Grandpa…"  
  
"Oh, sure, this'll haunt you forever, and everyone you know'll never forget it, but your life isn't over! Come to think of it, it probably is over for you now and such a tragic age for a lad…" Arnold moaned and dragged the sheets back over his head. Grandpa sighed, and got up from the bed. "Well, there's one bit of good advice I can give you…"  
  
"And that is?" the muffled boy responded.  
  
"Never eat your grandmother's mushroom surprise at my age. See ya, short man!" he cried, and ran out of the room. Arnold peered out of the covers, snarling at the now empty doorframe.  
  
"You ALWAYS say that, you back-stabbing old loser…" he mumbled, then flopped back into his dazed stupor. He wasn't leaving this room again…not like anyone would care if he died, Arnold figured. The only problem people would have is that he wouldn't be there to be mocked or confused with bunnies. 


End file.
